


Standing Still

by AgentStannerShipper



Series: Star Trek Bingo 2020 [9]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Character Study, Episode: s03e22 The Most Toys, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Light Angst, Presumed Dead, tasha is bad at emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:28:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25844329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStannerShipper/pseuds/AgentStannerShipper
Summary: It felt wrong. Not that she wasn’t crying, but that there wasn’t any impulse to cry either. She wasn’t blinking back tears, or fighting the urge to protest that they had to stay, had to scavenge the wreckage, had to make sure that Data really had been destroyed along with the shuttlecraft in the explosion. She was…alright.
Relationships: Data/Tasha Yar
Series: Star Trek Bingo 2020 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1875274
Kudos: 26
Collections: Star Trek Bingo Summer 2020





	Standing Still

**Author's Note:**

> For the bingo prompt "presumed dead." The Most Toys is one of my favorite episodes, so I figured I'd try to tackle it from Tasha's point of view.

Was she supposed to cry, Tasha wondered? Get teary-eyed, at least? That felt like the appropriate course of action: the stoic security chief blinking back tears as she read out reports of the explosion, biting back protests as the ship turned, headed towards Beta Agni II with barely enough of the much-needed hytritium to save that world, if not the officer who had been loading it. They were Starfleet, of course, and that meant they were professionals, but it seemed to Tasha that _someone_ ought to be crying, or close to. She didn’t need Deanna’s Betazoid abilities to see the stunned expressions of the bridge crew, to feel the numbness sweeping out over them all as they compartmentalized. The mission first. Then grief.

Still. It felt wrong. Not that she wasn’t crying – after all, Tasha was just as professional as most of her crew, and better adjusted to death than the lot of them – but that there wasn’t any impulse to cry either. She wasn’t blinking back tears, or fighting the urge to protest that they had to stay, had to scavenge the wreckage, had to make sure that Data really had been destroyed along with the shuttlecraft in the explosion. She was…alright.

And that was the messed-up part, wasn’t it? Tasha had known Data going on three years now, after all. They’d been friends for most of it, and dating for…god, Tasha was terrible with dates, that was Data’s department, but it had to be nearly a year and a half at least. And now he was dead and Tasha was pretty sure she was supposed to feel _something_. There was a heaviness settling into her chest, but it wasn’t like her tactical console was blurring with held-back tears. Her fingers moved precisely, without hesitation. She felt more empty than anything else.

When she was able to excuse herself from the bridge, she hit the gym. That was her routine after shift; at least an hour of exercise minimum if she was physically capable, either on her own or with a partner, sometimes on the holodeck if she really wanted to be alone but wanted someone to spar with. She still hadn’t managed to convince Data to try sparring with her, not that she had really expected anything else. Data wasn’t programmed to attack without provocation, wasn’t really designed for recreational fighting. There were so many art forms that he studied. The wide variety of martial arts simply weren’t the type he wished to practice.

Tasha smiled to herself as she changed into her workout gear. Data always looked so earnest turning her down. The last time, he’d returned the offer with an admission: “I am not willing to risk hurting you, no matter how marginal the probability may be.” Data was so much stronger than she was, stronger than any human really, but he still managed to be the gentlest soul Tasha had ever known.

Her face fell, and she stopped in the middle of the mat, halting so suddenly that she rocked forward on her heels before her body got the message. She was never going to be able to make that offer again. She was never again going to hear him refuse it.

Tasha curled her hand into a fist and, without gloves, slammed it into the nearest punching bag hard enough that her knuckles shrieked in protest. She staggered back, swearing, clutching at her hand as it smarted. Well. That was feeling something, at least.

Her whole body ached by the time she dragged herself back to her quarters. She knew Geordi and Wesley were still working to find the problem that had set off the shuttlecraft explosion, but she didn’t have it in her to join them. It wasn’t her area anyway. She had enough time to sleep before they arrived at the Beta Agni colony, and then she’d have to be on shift again. The mission would be accomplished. Life would go on.

She sat down hard on her sofa. The towel from the gym was still draped around her neck, and she wiped sweat from her forehead, dropping the cloth on the floor and lacing her fingers together, head bowed. Had they cleared out Data’s room yet? Did they question the chalk art on the walls? She didn’t think she’d left anything there, not that it mattered. Tasha had been the one to ask Data to keep their relationship a secret. Except for maybe Deanna with her empathic skills, Tasha wasn’t sure anyone even knew she and Data were close enough for it to make a difference. She wouldn’t be on the list for rehoming Data’s few possessions, even if she’d wanted to be. Tasha wasn’t exactly a collector of things (hard to be, when she’d gotten used to having nothing to begin with), but it might have been nice to have his medals. Data had questioned why he kept them, had wondered if it was vanity, but Tasha had always thought it was pride. Not pride as in ego, but the same thing that the best Starfleet officers felt; the rewarding satisfaction of knowing you were serving the Federation to the best of your abilities. Data had given everything he had to Starfleet. What exactly had they given him back?

She swallowed hard, squeezing her eyes shut. Still no tears. And why should there be? It was why she had failed Morals and Ethics back at Starfleet Academy, after all. Life was cheap. It didn’t matter. There were a lot of people Tasha hadn’t cried over. Why should Data be any different?

Except, he was supposed to be. She’d been getting _better_ , hadn’t she? Tasha sucked in a shuddering breath and resisted the urge to hit the wall. She’d been doing okay, had opened up in ways she hadn’t thought possible before. She _loved_ Data, loved her friends on the _Enterprise_ , had let them in to places she’d once assumed would never see the light of day. She’d been working through her issues with Deanna’s professional help and Data’s support. She’d even thought, just maybe, that she was almost ready to tell people about them.

It didn’t matter now.

Her door chimed, and she stiffened. “Come in.”

It slid open to reveal Deanna, dressed casually in off-duty clothes. A dress, of course, it almost always was, and Tasha felt suddenly self-conscious in her yellow Starfleet tanktop and workout pants. “Hey,” she said, and tried to make it sound nonchalant. “What’s up?”

Deanna gave her a small smile, and without needing an invitation took a seat on the chair opposite her. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been in your quarters,” she remarked, as if the opener were really casual, and not a counselor ploy. “The art on the walls…new?”

Tasha stared at the floor. The walls were decorated differently than in Data’s quarters, more blue chalk than yellow, more swirls than sharp lines, but that wouldn’t make a difference. It wasn’t like Earth had any rituals about marking the walls of home-spaces. It stood out. She shrugged. “A couple months.”

“I’ve seen this in Data’s quarters before. Did you do it together?”

Another shrug. “It’s a Turkana thing. You know how Data is about art.” The words were right there, on the tip of her tongue. She swallowed them back down.

The look Deanna gave her was pitying, and Tasha bit down hard on her cheek to stop from sneering. She didn’t need pity. She probably needed a shrink. Convenient, then, since Deanna was already here.

“Yes,” Deanna said slowly. “He was very interested in learning about artforms.”

Fuck. Past tense. Right. Tasha shook her head. “Why are you here? Did you need something?”

“I wanted to see how you were doing. I know you and Data were growing close.”

“I’m fine.” It came out sharp, but Tasha didn’t apologize. “Alright? He meant a lot to me, and now he’s dead, and I’m _fine_.”

“You’re projecting anger, but I can feel genuine grief.”

“Great!” Tasha snorted out a laugh, baring her teeth. “It’s great that you can feel that! I can’t.”

“Sometimes, when someone we care about is taken unexpectedly, we can shut down, stop ourselves from-“

“He wasn’t taken,” Tasha interrupted. “Okay? He’s not…he’s not _going_ anywhere. He’s _dead_. He’s gone.” She drooped, head falling into her hands. “It doesn’t matter,” she muttered.

“I think it does matter. To you, a great deal.”

He was supposed to outlive them all. The golden beacon of light in a universe where it was all too easy to succumb to the darkness. He was supposed to survive.

“We’re Starfleet officers,” Tasha said bluntly. She lifted her head, meeting Deanna’s gaze levelly, with hard eyes. “People die. We deal with it and move on. So I’m dealing with it.”

“Are you?”

“Yes,” Tasha bit out. She stood up. “I need a shower. Was there anything else?”

Deanna stood too. “No. But if you need to talk-“

“I don’t,” Tasha said. “I won’t.” She stalked past Deanna, the bathroom door sliding closed behind her even before she checked to see if Deanna was going to leave her quarters. She turned on the water, stepping under the spray and closing her eyes. She pressed her palms to the wall, breath hitching. She could almost imagine Data’s fingers on her shoulders, stroking the skin. She stayed under the water a lot longer than she needed to get clean, finally crawling into bed in her boxy blue pajamas. She fumbled for the nightstand, drawing out one of the few possessions she kept in her quarters, setting it on the shelf with a click as she turned it on. Tasha didn’t have Data’s android-perfect memory, but it was still her only holophoto. She’d made it a couple months ago, when Data had gone on an away mission that kept him off the _Enterprise_ for several days. They were curled up together in it, still in uniform, but both at rest. Tasha had made fun of herself at the time, had called herself stupid and sappy. Now, she was glad she had it. Sleep didn’t come easily, but it did come.

Waking up was easier. Tasha was used to sleeping alone. She still did it more often than not. Still, in the half-haze of morning, her hand slid first across the bed in front of her, then behind, searching blearily. She pushed herself upright, yawned and stretched, and then stopped. She drew her knees to her chest under the blanket, staring at the still-on holophoto on the nightstand. Oh.

Tasha was a professional. She shrugged into her uniform. In the mirror, she adjusted her commbadge and the pips at her collar. She stared into her own eyes, and blinked. No tears.

The bridge was…strangely normal. It wasn’t like Tasha had never seen Worf at Ops before, and they were all focused on the task at hand. Tasha avoided Deanna’s gaze as she took her station at Tactical. She didn’t understand much of the science jargon they threw back and forth – again, not her area – but she knew enough from mandatory Starfleet science classes to know that what was happening with the tricyanate was unusual, even more so than they expected. She considered: a trap? Sabotage? Unlikely. What would there be to gain?

She stayed onboard as the away team beamed down to take a closer look. Her gaze met the captain’s once, and Picard watched her for a long moment. Tasha watched back, wondering what he was searching for in her face. His eyes looked tired. Had he gotten any sleep last night? He looked away without saying anything, and Tasha returned her gaze to her own work.

In the observation lounge, Tasha immediately prickled, jumping back to her thought of sabotage the moment Doctor Crusher reported the abnormalities in the tricyanate’s reaction. “Fajo,” she suggested, and the room turned to look at her. “Isn’t it suspicious that he was the only one who had hytritium anywhere close enough for it to matter? The only substance that could solve the problem, and just enough to fix it?”

“But why?” Geordi frowned. What would he stand to gain?”

“There’s no profit in it, that’s for sure,” Doctor Crusher cut in. “If anything, with the cost of producing hytritium, and in that quantity, he’d _lose_ money.”

But there had to be a reason. There was always a reason. Tasha had grown up on a world that Starfleet textbooks called ‘senseless,’ but she had known better. Power was a reason. Pleasure was a reason. Any situation where you stood to gain-

Data.

Geordi reached the conclusion at the same time. “If Fajo collects valuable objects, the only known sentient android would be a pretty impressive prize.”

Tasha’s heart leapt into her throat and camped there. It made swallowing difficult, but she’d didn’t have it in her to care. There was still a chance.

Deanna managed to sidle up to her not long before their arrival at Lya IV, moving swiftly and silently enough that Tasha’s preoccupation almost kept her from noticing. As it was, she managed to avoid jumping when Deanna murmured. “How are you feeling?”

“You don’t need to ask,” Tasha quipped back. “He might still be alive.”

“Might?”

Tasha leveled a look at her. “We still don’t have any proof.” She couldn’t stop the hope from beading up in her chest, but she wasn’t about to let it run wild. For all they knew, Fajo had wiped Data’s memory systems clean and started from scratch with his android toy. For all they knew – assuming they were right, that Data hadn’t been on the shuttle – Data might not even be Data anymore.

It was enough to crash an icy wave over the buds of Tasha’s hope. She steeled herself, and made the preparations.

She followed after Riker at his signal, at his heels as he took the turbolift to the transporter room. There was tension in his shoulders, a hard set to his jaw. “We’re going to get him back,” was all he said by way of explanation, and Tasha felt some of the tension bleed out of her shoulders at the statement. They were going to get him back.

She heard O’Brian’s report of a weapon’s discharge in the transporter, but only from far away. The security-trained part of her catalogued the information swiftly: weapon’s discharge in the beam meant Data had fired at someone. He was in danger. Fighting for his life?

No. Tasha watched him materialize on the platform. Data might not have sparred with her, but she had seen him fight. He wasn’t in defensive form. He was standing, calculated, weapon raised. Tasha stared. Something was caught in her chest. It might have been her breath. Data’s face was almost contorted, just a hint of contempt around the eyes, sharp and shocking. And then it smoothed. He blinked and handed off the weapon to Riker, who passed it to Tasha. And then he lied.

It only half-registered with Tasha. Her vision was blurry. She clutched the disruptor, the weapon that Data had fired, coldly, with intent. The weapon that Data had lied about using. She stared at him. Riker was already reporting to the bridge, but Data stared back. Tasha searched his face. He sounded like Data. He’d recognized them. That meant everything was okay, right?

“Tasha?” Data asked softly. “Is everything alright?”

She swallowed hard. “Everything’s fine, Data.”

“But you are crying.”

She blinked, hand flying to her face. She wiped them away. “Oh! I…sorry.”

Data stepped towards her. His expression was soft, the perfect opposite of the look on the transporter pad. His brow furrowed, his hand lifting and then lowering in an aborted motion to touch her. “They made you think I was destroyed.”

She nodded and sniffed, a strange laugh emanating out from somewhere in her chest. “It’s been…a really weird twenty-four hours.”

“Weird how?”

“Bad.” Tasha wrapped her arms around herself. “It was really, really bad.”

“I am sorry to have caused you distress.”

Tasha’s heart clenched. “Did he hurt you?”

Data went silent. His gaze fell to the disrupter, then lifted, slowly, to meet her eyes. “He hurt many people,” Data said. “Not just me.”

And that, Tasha believed. “We’re taking him in to custody,” she told him. “Fajo isn’t going to hurt anyone ever again.”

Data gave a stiff nod. “Good.” He hesitated a moment longer. Tasha was the one who gave in. She closed the space between them, hugging Data tight, closing her eyes in relief as she felt his arms encircle her back. She didn’t kiss him. She wasn’t there yet. But she held him, and finally let herself cry.


End file.
